The Dark Lady of Mordor
by Sauron's Nagging Wife
Summary: A collection of scenes & background information. Reposted for a couple of people to take a look at.
1. In the Beginning

This is all for relaxation and fun, not profit. Enjoy, and don't take any of it too seriously.

* * *

**In the Beginning**

Before the world, Eru, who is called Ilúvatar, dwelt alone in the Void until he created the Ainur, the Holy Ones. The Valar are the Power and the Maiar are the People. One of the fairest and cleverest among these lesser spirits was a Maia of Aulë, the smith. He is known only as _The Abhorred_ in Arda, but the Ainur had not names in their language and referred to one another by their essences. Thus, hewas called _Smith._

In time, this beautiful spirit came to know Legrace, who was a Maia of Varda. She is the delight of the Vala Tulkas for she is the merriest of the Maiar and laughs at everything, even Ilúvatar, from whose joy and love she had sprung. All things that live she loves, and her spirit is light and joyful. Awesome is the power of her voice, and her song is long unheard among the Ainur.

…_...She and Tulkas had driven everyone mad with their jokes and teasing and had even made Mandos laugh. Once, she had got Ulmo to let her walk upon the surface of his seas, and she had run, laughing and barefoot, across the rolling white capped breakers and the rising and falling swells with their immense dormant power. _

_He had been an outsider even then, serious and quiet, yet she had noticed him, spoken to him. Her head had tilted to one side and she had gazed up at him with heartrendingly sweet admiration. _

"_You have the loveliest eyes." she had murmured guilelessly. "Perhaps you might produce a pretty blue stone of such a color." _

_His heart had fallen that day. "I shall, my lady," he had replied. And he had slaved over it, wishing to present her with the fairest of all blue stones. When he had been satisfied, he had taken it to her and bowed and put in into her hand. "For you, lady," had he said respectfully. _

_She had stared at it in shock, and when she had lifted tear-filled eyes to his, he had been horrified at having made her weep. "My lovely smith," she had murmured emotionally. "As similar as it is in color to your exquisite eyes, it yet cannot hold all their beauty." _

_He had stood still in stunned silence until she had reached up and drawn his head down for their first kiss... _

When he came to know her, he loved her beyond all other things; and in Legrace's heart grew a special love for this powerful and gentle spirit. They were bonded with this love of soul, heart, mind, and body; despite burning desire, however, they remained chaste and appealed to Ilúvatar to espouse them as he had done with others.

For a long time, Ilúvatar regarded them silently, for he knew them and all that would be. Then, he said, "Blessed is this union, and as the Flame Imperishable burns within ye, so does the greatest of all my gifts, which is love."

There was a celebration where they sang together in the Deeps of Time in the Void before the world was formed. The laughter and songs of Legrace filled him with joy, and his steady faithfulness filled her with strength and buoyancy.

In his physical form, he was one of the fairest of the Maiar. He was tall in stature, great in breadth and physical power. His mind had been formed as a smith, and his body was strong and powerfully muscled, especially arms, chest, and shoulders. His hair was as black as the Void; his eyes, which held the power to enchant, were the rich, striking deep blue from which he had chosen to fashion the original blue stones of the earth, very few of which have survived.

Legrace was less tall, reaching only to her husband's shoulder, but she was taller than all the other females of the Ainur. She was very strong and buxom of form and was well-suited to her merry and rollicking existence. She wore her red hair uncased as she danced upon the Garden of Arda, and he loved her smiling face and the warmth of her dark eyes and the flowing of her flame-like hair.

Despite the meddling of Melkor, Arda grew and took form and was wonderful beyond the expectation of the Ainur. All were all first surprised, then amused and entertained by the devoted lovers. For, with the others, he sweated and pounded in the forges of Aulë; she sang and nurtured earth with her fellow Ainur. During their rest, however, they sang together, and Legrace danced, and they seemed insatiable in their physical desire for each other. It was as a joke. Even Nienna found amusement in their life song. Everywhere that they made love ever afterwards grew trees of exquisite light and fruit.

All this came to pass before the counting of time had begun. How long they lived thus is unknown to all but Ilúvatar. It was fifty centuries or fifty thousand. The Ainur did not experience the passage of time.

It was no surprise that Legrace bore and brought forth the first child of the Ainur.


	2. The Fairest Prince of the ELves

**How Legrace came to know the fairest of the princes of the elves**

In physical form, Legrace the Maia was very tall and always stood very straight. She was strongly built and was a woman in her prime, no longer impressionable or lacking in confidence like a young lass. Her hair, which she always wore uncased and loose, was waist length, thick, rich, and it was dark red like expensive wine. She had fine dark eyes, black and usually full of amusement. Her face was exquisite, lovely, incandescent with the light of Iluvatar, for she had sprung from His joy and love. Her beauty was not the delicate, slender loveliness of the elves, it was rather something more, for she smoldered with sensuality and was irresistible to any whom she sought to charm.

She laughed at everything and found amusement in the smallest things, and no one could remain unmoved by her voice.

Her weakness was her fondness for tall, fair-faced Elves and Men. Once she had set her eyes upon the elven princes of old, fairest creatures in her eyes, save the one she had taken to husband, her hunger had never abated. Although her husband had always been delighted by her nearly insatiable desire for him, he encouraged her in her amorous adventures. He gave her the pick of the prisoners and was amused by her appetite. She always returned to his bed with love and desire in her eyes and eagerness in her touch. It excited him, too, how aggressively she made love to him after she had returned from her liaisons and seductions.

They were perfectly content together until a strange band of orcs passed by his tower, and he had them brought before him. Then came the singing contest. The voice of Sauron was powerful and beautiful, and one of the disguised orcs sang in challenge. His fair, exquisite voice rang through the tower, and Legrace stirred in her private chambers. Leaving her raiment behind, she went down to the Main Hall, where she admired her husband. He was tall, regal, immense, with black hair grown just to his collar and extraordinarily exquisite dark blue eyes. She loved him beyond all things, and as he sang, the sound of his voice filled her with joy. She cloaked herself in secrecy and went to him, moving to the rhythm of his song. Only he could perceive her, and his voice rose with a sweet emotion. She went and sat upon the arm of his chair. Her caressing fingers brushed his arm, and his hallowed voice swelled so that the orc-clad figure collapsed before him.

They were stripped of their disguises, and for the first time, Legrace saw the fairest of all the princes of the elves although they did not know his name. She nuzzled her husband's ear and stroked his shoulder affectionately.

"I want the pretty golden one," she purred.

"I though you would," he replied with a grin. "You should not be here, Legrace. Go, and I shall have him prepared for you."

Thus, Legrace became the lover of the King of Nargothrond, Finrod son of Finarfin, called the Faithful, Felagund, (Hewer of Caves), and the Friend of Men, but the tale of their days together is told elsewhere. So dazzled was she by his fine, lithe, strong body and beautiful face that she did not return to her husband's bed for many days. They had never gone so long without making love except when she had gone abroad. He had no other lover, and he longed for Legrace, but still she did not come. He grew jealous, and instead of waiting for her to grow tired of her "pretty elf prince", he cast Finrod into the pit of the wolf with the others.

There, Finrod slew the wolf with his hands and his teeth, but he was mortally wounded and died in the arms of his companions. So passed the fairest and most beloved of all the elf men who have ever walked upon Middle-earth.

In a rage, Legrace went to confront Sauron in the Main Hall. If she had only realized that her husband had been mad with jealousy, history may have been different. As it was, she appeared for the first time in the Hall in physical form, and the servants quailed in fear at her terrible and magnificent beauty. Their spectacular and renowned row shook the tower to its very foundation. Then, Legrace abandoned him for the first time in history and long walked the cold shores until her anger abated. The eternal love and passion of Eru overruled grief at the death of her temporary lover, and she returned only to find Sauron vanquished and driven out and the tower held by his enemy. She ran, then, to find him, singing and weeping her loss, and she eventually found him and was comforted in his arms. Neither ever spoke of it again in the eons they spent together.


	3. In the Undying Lands

**In the Undying Lands**

The brilliance of Anor was waning in the afternoon as Yavanna and Legrace left the others and strolled out into the gardens together. The light green canopy of apple trees soon gave way to the rich deep blue skies of South Aman, and Legrace turned her face upwards to the thick blue. Her own flame was brilliant.

An affectionate smile lit Yavanna's face. In her origins, Legrace had been a spirit of joy and love, full of merriment and physical sensation, both fire and earth. Being herself of life and earth, Yavanna shared a deep bond with the tall Maia; yet, the intensity and passion of Legrace's flame had always eluded her comprehension. The long ages dwelling in darkness had had some effect on Legrace: and edge, a wildness, a humorous selfishness that no other of their kind exhibited.

Unlike the other denizens of Middle-earth, Legrace had the sweet openness and the artless intrepidity of the Ainur. So many Ages had passed, and yet Legrace still retained the wonder, the thrill, the rapture of physical life in Arda. No surprise there she had always been of a hedonistic bent. The bond that Yavanna shared with her was as givers of life. Legrace was a mother of children brought forth from her body; Yavanna had created_olvar_and_kelvar_with her thought and effort and was no less a mother.

The differences between them were extensive, making them seem an odd pair. Yavanna was a slender, fresh spirit, like a maturing sapling, full of love and nurturing for everything that lived and grew. Her agony rose from the butchery, misuse, andcareless treatment of her children. Legrace was a voluptuous, molten spirit, caring for and loving those who filled her life: her children, who expanded her soul immeasurably; her beloved, whom she had long known would eventually be parted forever from her; and those creatures who gave themselves to her in absolute surrender and vulnerability.

"Your children have become much like you in manner and habit, though not in face," remarked the Vala with a smile. "What precious jewels they are!"

Aye," agreed Legrace with a wistful smile. "The fairest creatures that now dwell upon this earth. Long ages have passed away since I delivered the exquisite Kitarae from my body. Since then, there has been nothing."

"You have not conceived any other child?"

"I have known my husband innumerable times, as you may imagine," Legrace explained. "And others of the elven kindred without any result." Looking directly at the Vala now, all Legrace's thoughts were apparent in her eyes and expression. "What curse is this upon my flesh? Have I withered in the foul, rotting darkness that surrounds me almost constantly?"

"Nay," soothed Yavanna. "Legrace, no darkness could affect you!" She looked deeply into the other Aina's eyes, and they long held each other thus. Slowly, then, she raised her right hand and pressed her palm against Legrace's belly. The moment lengthened, and Legrace's anxiety was tactile.

"My dear Legrace, there is no frost upon you," Yavanna assured her. "You may bear more children." She spoke calmly with a smile.

Joy formed soft tears in the corners of Legrace's black eyes. "My dear lady… then, what is the problem?"

Taking her friend's hand gently in hers, Yavanna sighed, an awkward, heavier expression settling upon her naturally serene face. "It is your husband. As long as you dwell with him, you shall remain childless. He shall not beget life again."

Tears slipped onto Legrace's face. "It cannot be true!"

"I am sorry. Legrace, the problem lies in him. If it is your wish to be fruitful and pour forth more of your brilliance into a new being, you must leave your husband."

A pale, shocked expression appeared on Legrace's face. "Not for anything would I do so."

"Then, this is your fate, to share in his affliction, for his seed is poison and nothing shall grow from it again."

Turning away from the glorious Vala, Legrace raised an elegant hand to cover her eyes as tears coursed down her face and throat. "How much I am forced to give up!" she murmured. Then: "So be it. I must stay with him, for the day is not far off when I shall lose him forever."


	4. In the Dark Tower

Another little snippet of life with the Lady Legrace, just a "practice run" of sorts told in present tense.

* * *

The halls of the Tower are dark and lit only by smoking torches since the Lady is not having one of her notorious revelries. Somewhere from above comes a call, and the servants of the Lord of Mordor stir and look up, wondering if it they that he summons. It is not; this is no summons or command, but rather a request and a gentle one at that. They watch and they wait and are not disappointed, for soon there is a light step and a lovely scent preceding a brilliant light.

Distracted and radiant with anticipation of love and passion, Legrace passes almost silently through the halls as she goes to her beloved. Her deep blue raiment and fiery red hair seem almost wreathed in light, but it is generated within. She casts a naughty smile at those gathered but stops when her gaze finds a pretty young elf maiden, dark and somber, sitting alone with her head bowed. Intrigued, compelled, Legrace goes to her and sits beside the young lady.

"I remember you, lass, for you spoke so fair to me when we met. What is your name?"

The maiden looks up at her with eyes full of pain. "I am Oyarsa, my lady."

Frowning, Legrace reaches to press the palm of her hand against the elf's forehead and holds her gaze with her fine, black eyes. After a moment, she withdraws her hand and sighs. "I can help you, my dear, if you wish to be restored to your true self. You do not know my husband, which may be for the best; however, it is difficult for a woman to live with a fleshless, disembodied creature, and I had to develop a spell to overcome such hurdles to love and pleasure long ago. It will be an uncomfortable experience for you, but not half as unpleasant as it is for your master."

Oyarsa looks up with a flicker of interest. "I do not fear physical pain, lady."

"There will not be pain. Very well." Legrace turns and walks about ten paces before turning back. Then, she begins to sing.

It is powerful music, very sad, full of love and longing and loneliness, and the living things that hear it remain motionless. Although the language is ancient and unusual, all understand it. A feeling of love and the sweet stirrings of amorous passion flow though them, and no one is but deeply moved by the sound that washes over them.

The lady's appearance changes slightly. Her inner glow intensifies into a flame and shines through her pale skin and like a hearthfire behind a paper screen. Her voice pours out waves of love and weaves a spell of enchantment, threads of power that call to and beckoned them. It is her most magnificent song, and in the end, the very beauty of Iluvatar is revealed to them. As the song ends and the last strains of her hallowed voice fade, there is a moment of perfect silence. The eyes of those watching shine with love.

Looking the same as she ever had, the Lady Legrace smiles and goes forward to the drooping figure of the elf maiden. At her approach, Oyarsa gets to her feet, and although she is tall, Legrace towers above her. Instead of the haunted Dark Elf, before her stood the fresh faced elven maiden restored again to life and light.

"Though you look not like her, there is something in you that reminds me of my daughter," remarks the Dark Lady, her long and ancient memory reaching back to the very beginnings of the world. "And yet many Ages have passed since she walked upon Middle-earth----"

"**LEGRACE!"**

Every other creature falls upon the floor and cowers as the voice of their Master reverberates through the Hall. Oyarsa stares motionlessly in petrified horror and fascination as his eyes catch her. Immense, terrifying and yet beautiful and magnificent beyond the measure of Men or Elves, the former Smith of Aule stands framed in the doorway with his cold, dark blue eyes staring at her. Her blood begins to freeze and she attempts to choke out some word.

Legrace turns with a happy laugh and goes swiftly to him. Her face is brilliant with joy as she lifts her arms to embrace him. All else forgotten, the Dark Lord of Mordor sweeps her up in his arms. She is trembling with anticipation and draws his head down with a light touch on the back of his neck. As all watch, he returns her affectionate kiss as they stand alone in the doorway, then, they are gone, and Legrace's laughter rings through the Tower… and the sinister sound of his laughter, evil and lustful, matches it. Then, it is only an echo and the light returns to normal.


	5. To Kill a Unicorn

Written with my husband amidst much laughing and hilarity.  
Warning: Smut ahead – don't read on if you don't like it!

* * *

In a deep dungeon specifically designed to be impenetrable to any creature, even the Valar themselves, the Dark Lord cast the elven maiden roughly upon the floor. 

She lay dazed for a minute and then began to speak.

"I will not hear your pathetic mewlings," he said in a voice so cold that icicles seemed to form on Turralye's heart. "Your opportunity has passed. You will receive no mercy again."

Then, he froze and closed his fiery eyes. The elf's entreaties fell on deaf ears. Legrace's call shook him to the core. Never had he sensed such pain from her. _Do nothing, remain there_ he tried to tell her. _For I shall come_. The communication was somehow flawed, and he was not certain what she was going to do.

"Contemplate your fate, foolish creature," he said to Turralye with a demonic grin. "For those who chose to play with fire must eventually get burned.'

Slamming the iron door, he sealed it in a veil of secrecy before moving swiftly to intercept Legrace. Drat the woman! Where was she? He followed the ink they shared and strode unseeingly across the party to the entrance hall and the main doors.

Without a word, the attendants quailed and pointed after her. Half a league away and moving slowly. He summoned his Fell Beast and turned to snarl at the lady Yavanna who had also emerged from the Tower. "Do not interfere in this!" he growled low in his throat.

Before the lady could reply, the heartiest grooms brought his winged beast and he leapt onto the foul steed that had served him many times before. With a shriek, the best reared and wheeled into the sky. Only a moment before they overtook his lady. Somehow, she seemed not to notice his approach until the huge beast descended to earth directly in front of her.

She sat and stared at him in utter shock and confusion even as he dismounted and strode over to her side. _Tears!_ his mind screamed, for he had not seen her weep since the First Age on Middle-earth. _Heads will be set on the spikes on the Black Gate for this!_ he swore viciously. Pulling her down into his grip, he demanded "What happened!"

* * *

Wallowing in her misery, Legrace didn't sense his approach. The appearance of the Dark Lord on his steed, with his black hair streaming in the wind, she felt her heart lurch violently against her ribcage. Incapable of rational though, she merely watched as he approached her. She knew his look well: he was furious. 

Then, suddenly, he was holding her by the shoulders and glaring at her. She tried to form words, to speak, but noting would come. With a sob, she embraced him.

"What happened?" he repeated a little less fiercely as he closed his arms about her.

She buried her face against his neck. "Do not ever leave me that way again!"

"Leave you?" He petted her hair as he considered her words. "You are the one who is leaving."

"Why did you leave me to face Manwë and Aulë alone?" she sobbed.

"Alone? Was not Ganim there to aid you? For a moment, I though he was Varda! Besides, I had no doubt that you could handle those humorless Valar."

She lifted her head and gazed seriously into his eyes. "Why did you abandon me that way?"

He met her gaze unflinchingly. "I had to deal with that Elf maiden."

Pulling slightly back, she stared at him, her eyes wounded. The flame of joy and love that was her essence had been completely transformed into pain. "You abandoned me… betrayed me…. For another woman?"

A vicious scowl appeared on his face. "No! That's not what it means!" He glared at her. "You cannot seriously believe such a thing!"

She said nothing but looked down.

He reached to turn up her chin to him. "There can never be another woman, Legrace. You know that."

Still, she continued to gaze at him with her mournful eyes.

"Nothing has ever come between us," he reminded.

"This has. You have put this between us and you must remove it."

He let go of her and stood looking at her. "I shall."

Legrace took a deep breath. "Kill her."

* * *

Although her words and the intensity with which she spoke them managed to surprise him, no doubt entered his mind. His eyes smoldered and he nodded curtly, then he lifted her with one arm. The free hand slapped her horse, thus sending her back to the stables. Holding her easily, he leapt back onto his Fell Beast as clasped the black reins. Legrace clung to his neck, but they were back at the Tower momentarily. 

Even when he dismounted, he bore his lady to the door. Yavanna waited there with a sickeningly sweet smile and he nearly blasted her with hatred; however, the nauseatingly good Vala obviously cared deeply for Legrace and was merely concerned with her.

"If you REALLY want to help her, you might think about keeping that bulldog of a husband on your leash," he sneered as politely as possible. He didn't bother to stop but pushed tight past her. "I HEAR you are very good at it."

Yavanna's outrage and anger was immediate, but the warm, arousing sound of Legrace's laughter put an immediate end to that. The Dark Lady threw her hood back and grinned back at her over her husband's shoulder. "Pay him no heed. But perhaps you might distract Aulë from us…?"

Yavanna's reply was lost as the doors swung shut behind them. Once inside, he was able to disappear with her and return to the dungeons. He set Legrace down as his howl of impotent fury echoed throughout the Tower. _Gone! How? Impossible! _

Then, he stood motionless and an evil grin spread across his face. He turned to Legrace with devilish darkness in his eyes. "Come with me. We shall find her." He took his lady by the hand and led her quickly after the escaped Elf who had foolishly revealed herself and her secret to him.

* * *

Spirits lightening, Legrace laughed as she ran hand-in-hand with her lover. It was worth, almost, the horror that she had had to face a short time ago. Why, it was almost like going back long before the Counting of Time, when they had been young and newly espoused, and had lived and loved on the fresh, new fields of Arda. How could such a thing have been lost? Yet, the greatest of Eru's gifts endured and remained inviolate, and they still dwelt in the blessedness of their love. Even though, the hardships and experiences during all their Ages living apart from the other Ainur seemed to have altered them a bit and sharpened them both, so that the others who knew only the peace and unbroken bliss of Aman saw something slightly wild in both of them. Indeed, Legrace often remarked after returning from a trip to visit their children in the City of Valmar that it was like being always in a baby's playpen: safe from danger but limited and boring. 

She laughed aloud when she wondered how the Valar would react if she told them that their Blessed Realm was nothing more than a big playpen. At the sound, her beloved stopped and turned to her, and his eyes held a familiar burning look that always served to weaken her knees. She exalted at being the object of such desire.

"Lady, you know how to tempt a man beyond endurance," he muttered in a tone that would have sent innocents scampering away, and then he delighted her by taking her in his arms and kissing her soundly. At that precise second, the clatter of dainty hoofs echoed in a nearby passage. Both their heads swung quickly towards the noise, then back to stare, wide-eyed at each other.

Then, they grinned at each other: Legrace in merriment, the Dark Lord in devilry before they clasped hands again and raced after the sound.

* * *

The Lord of the Dark Tower stopped and closed his eyes. He was listening feeling, for none, not even his Legrace, knew the Tower and the monstrous subterranean mazes blasted into the very skeleton of the earth as he did. Now, he could see where the pathetic creature was headed. There was a chance; he would attempt to cut her off before she reached the Great Hall again. Still, those Valar were about…. 

Hatred bloomed in him, intense and terrifying. If necessary, he would fight Manwë, but he _would_ slaughter that abomination, that asinine ungulate who imagined she could escape him. No, the stupid creature had ensured her own death when she had chosen to remain in his presence rather than flee. The silly girl had fallen into the same lethal trap that had claimed so many other innocents, the belief that they could somehow touch him, move him, reform him. Ha! But he had let her! His self-loathing swelled for a moment: that inconsequential piece of fluff, he had allowed her to reach through him and harm Legrace. Bitterly, the hatred swelled in him like the foul bile that spilled from the orcs he slew for sport. Die she must, and swiftly, for if he attempted to draw the act into excruciating torture, he knew that the Valar would likely rescue her while some life remained. Usually, he enjoyed to leave maimed creatures alive; however, Legrace had pronounced the sentence, and nothing would impede him now!

The only thought that gave him pause was Manwë. True, the Lord of the Valar had grown fat and soft in the eons he had sat upon Taniquetil, but he was still to be feared. Now, though, it was obvious that with Legrace beside him in her ferocious tigress mood, even Manwë would prove no obstacle. The only rogue element was Aulë. What would his old master do? Although he considered the Smith a great doddering fool, there was still a sliver of admiration and affection for the fellow. Well, perhaps Yavanna would deal with him.

He began to lead Legrace very quickly again. There was time. If he could just cut off that repulsive creature before she found her way out of the labyrinth…

* * *

Immense love and joy filled Legrace and buoyed her until her feet almost didn't reach the ground. An adventure together at last! So long had they been mired in the routine of their life at the Tower that, despite the earth-shattering passion they shared, Legrace had often sought entertainment and society among the Elves. Not so now! Not since he had gone to serve the dull and humorless Melkor had they behaved so blithely together. The Ages melted away, and even the Danger of the angry Valar melted away. Legrace was an embodiment of Eru's joy and love and could never retain any of the darker emotions. Even their quarry concerned her no longer. 

Letting go of her hand, he shot ahead, swearing in his foul Black Tongue. She grinned and darted after him, but she was laughing too hard to keep up. There was some noise, some commotion. She paused in wonder, then hurried after him.

The passage led back to the ground floor and eventually to the Great Hall. When Legrace had followed her eternal lover into the Hall through the little side door, she froze and stared at the scene before her.

All the guests had huddled on the far side of the room. The pretty little pony was cornered near the refreshment tables far from escape. As he advanced upon her with an evil laugh, the Lord of Mordor sealed the doors with a gesture. The loud boom reverberated and some of the women screamed. An uneasy shuffling was heard. The pony's hooves tapped upon the stones of the floor as she moved away from the hideous shadow that grew before her with every step.

Pity for the frightened creature smote Legrace: she immediately reached out to probe her. Her great sin had been only of pride and vanity, for she had imagined that she could have some effect on the one whom she knew as Sauron the Terrible. The name raised Legrace's hackles, for she was one of the few who still used his true name. Now Legrace could see a funny, twisted horn on the soft head. The poor little thing was harmless, though, and did not deserve such an ignoble end.

Before she could act, however, the heavy Main Doors were smashed open and all jerked their heads to see, all except the Dark Lord who was stalking his trapped prey.

* * *

Tiny, she was, and inconsequential. Delicate to the point of being toy like. The very sight of her made him hate her even more, but his hate was tinged with scorn and disgust. He hated weak things, despised helplessness, longed to crush anything vulnerable. It was strength he respected and admired, strength in both body and mind, and the pitiful animal that trembled in his sights was beneath all contempt. _Not even worth my spit_, he though, but Legrace had directed him, and her will would be done. 

He had not held out much hope for accomplishing his task without a fight and when he hear the loud crash of the doors, there was no need to look to see what had happened. He knew. He was not surprised when the Lord of the Valar bellowed at him. _Really, how the mighty can be so concerned with such a pathetic creature! _Baring his teeth in a feral manner, he turned to face the Ruler of Arda.

Though angry, Manwë began to speak, but this was beyond words now. He was alone: Aulë and Yavanna were nowhere in sight. Perhaps there was a chance, for Manwë was fat and bloated with the excesses of his easy life in Valinor. Whatever, he WOULD NOT FAIL! With a vicious snarl, he pounced upon the most powerful being in the universe.

* * *

Legrace's black eyes grew round and her breath became short. Was he mad? Would he take on all the Valar to abide by her wishes? What was she to do? Her beloved had surprise on his side and was strong and fit; unfortunately, Manwë's powers were unmatched, now, in the world, and it was only a matter of time before he gained the upper hand. _Eru, help me_, she thought. _What shall I do?_

The Dark Lord had thrown the other to the ground, but the Vala quickly gained the upper hand. Legrace had to take a long calming breath. After that, she smiled sweetly and began to sing.

Softly at first, her song reached out in delicate tendrils of power. Slowly, even as he throttled her husband, the fine web of enchantment skittered across the floor and began to envelop Manwë like a growing, living thing. Long unheard in Aman had been the voice of the Dark Lady, and irresistible was she to any whom she sought to charm. Manwë proved no different than any other, be he Elf, Man, or Ainu. He released his enemy and turned to her. Indeed, against any show of strength or power, he would have been able to retaliate, but the insidious, melancholy, seductive song of the lady seeped painlessly into the chinks in his defenses. He rose, stared at her, then came to her as one under a spell.

* * *

First, he shook his head to clear it. Then, he coughed violently. Realizing, however, that there was nothing that could now stand in his way, the Master of Mordor crowed in triumph and regained his feet. The silly unicorn was still cowering by the tables, too stupid to even run away. Mad with bloodlust, he seized a knife from one of the roast hams and rushed at the unprotected creature even as the Vala was beguiled by Legrace's seduction. 

The horse like creature whinnied as he threw her to the ground and struggled briefly. For some reason Legrace's song had stopped abruptly, and Manwë was hurtling towards him with a cry of grief and rage. It was too late. He held her still with one arm and raised the knife. He was going to enjoy this. His hand was checked, however, by the sound of a voice ringing through the chamber like a trumpet. He turned, startled, but did not release his prey. Manwë had frozen in mid-stride as well.

* * *

As she drew the man she detested with the arts that she had perfected over many long ages, Legrace grew more troubled with the events that she had set in motion in a moment of pain and unbearable grief. In the end, she could not go on, and when her song stopped, Manwë was freed from her spell. Still, he would not be in time to save the delicate unicorn. 

"No!" she cried. "Stop! Please, do not do it!"

All action froze, and Her husband's magnificent eyes swung to her, the madness and passion of murder melting and being replaced by a questioning annoyance. Manwë also turned back to her.

"This creature is so beautiful, and she cannot harm me." Now, her voice was soft and rich, as always, and both males and females in the room shuddered to hear it. "Please release her, my love. I do not wish this."

* * *

The knife fell out of his hand and clattered to the floor. The preposterous, peacock-pretty creature he let out of his murderous grasp. Aulë and Yavanna had come too late and now stood watching in the heavy, thick silence. The sound of the frivolous half-horse getting up broke it. How he hated that thing! She did not deserve to live! Something so completely bereft of sense, reason, intellect- even the instinct for self preservation! No, she deserved death. 

Ignoring everything else except the huge, dark, emotional eyes of Legrace, he stared across the room. By the Void, he had been willing to kill or die for her! The fickle desires of women!

He wanted to be disgusted and succeeded somewhat; however, the passions and emotions that swirled through him nearly took control but he fought it. Immense, pressing physical need for her was nearly overwhelming him.

Obviously, she recognized it and knew there would be no niceties, there would be no time for going to privacy or allowing the guests to depart. And she would submit! For once in the eternity they had dwelt together- but it was too much. This was too uncharacteristic for the genteel and refined public face of Legrace (even though he knew her passions as well as she did).

With a strangled cry of frustration, the Lord of Mordor strode from the room. He saw nothing and nearly mowed down a servant who stood gaping at him. His disappeared from the Hall and the darkness went with him.

* * *

Watching the love of her life struggle with his feelings, Legrace was torn herself. She had used him badly, but she had not been able to help herself, for she had been ruled by her passions. The look he had shot her -- she licked her lips in anticipation, for there was certainly no force to stop what was going to happened now, nor Vala, Maia, Elf, nor Mortal. 

Somehow, he controlled what had before been uncontrollable. He stalked from the room, and she regretted all that had passed in an instant and wondered what she could do to remove all memory of this bizarre night.

Seeing the Lord of the Valar helping the foolish creature who had got less than she deserved for her silly ego, Legrace's temper go the best of her.

"Manwë Súlimo, all-knowing Ruler of Arda, you defile all that you touch," she said in a clear low voice. "You forced the others of your kind to abandon this garden of Middle-earth and do nothing in your Blessed Realm but eat and watch our trials and pain from the obscene comfort of your mansion. You left this earth to the mercy of foul Melkor and refused to hear my pleas. By your act, you doomed millions to torture and death. Millions of Elves, Mortals and other creatures who deserved no such thing. And yet you lifted no finger in defense of any creature upon this once fair garden until tonight. One maiden kisses you and you are ready to commit murder in her defense where all the hosts of Middle-earth were left to slaughter! I will never understand the motivations of men's lusts, but I say this of you: you have sunk lower in my eyes that the foul beast Melkor, for at least he made no pretense of goodness and redemption as you falsely do. I curse your name before Eru and the creatures of the Universe and the Void, and I shall do so again when the Moment of Eru's judgment is upon us!"

* * *

What could one expect from creatures who had never known pain or grief or compassion, who had never known loss, who had never had children, who had never dwelt in the world? In a way, she was sorry for them, for though they had never suffered, they had also never truly lived. Though she was taller than all the other females of the Ainur and she stood unflinchingly in front of the Valar, hoping for the pain of physical blows to drive out her emotional pain, Legrace seemed somehow delicate and lost and melancholy in her rich blue traveling clothes and cloak. 

"For thousands of centuries you have sat in your mansion leaving the helpless creatures of this world bereft to be smashed about by foolish chance. And what makes you come to this place that you decreed the Ainur forsake? Not the suffering of innocents or the prayers of those who hope and wait for some intervention. You come to a party to which you were not invited at a place where you know you are unwelcome. Why break such a long time without a visit to Middle-earth in order to visit the home of a Maia that you dislike? For no good reason, I fear.

"No, Manwë, my love life is not your concern, and nothing that dwells upon this earth is a concern of yours. In the depths of the black pits, thousands now writhe in torment, and do you make any effort to relieve them? No, for they are no concern of yours. The one creature you attempt to save is a ripe maiden infatuated with you. In the end, you saved not even her. I saved her. I have saved some thousands in my life here, which is more than you can claim. Whatever my motivations, I have done some good among those whom you do not protect."

She drew in a sigh. "You would view this differently if the situation were reversed. What say you, Manwë, how would you feel if something threatened the incomparable Varda, if she was to be removed from your side forever? And good Aulë, you wept bitterly over those you created: could you bear to have your lovely Yavanna destroyed? And you, Yavanna, what if Aulë were to be removed from the world? And what if this thing, this horror and doom, were preventable? Preventable… yet no one would help you to prevent it? Bitter indeed would be your grief in your struggle to preserve the one you loved if you knew it could not be accomplished alone. I expect no compassion from you for me, for indeed you have shown no compassion for the millions who have lived and suffered and died on this wild land of Middle-earth. But if you think what it must be like to know your beloved will be torn from you never to be met again? Perhaps you might then imagine what grief is, and you may imagine a fraction of the pain that has been felt in the world since the Valar went into hiding far away."

She examined her simple wedding ring. "My heart shall be cleaved in two, but my life shall not end. I shall dwell alone afterwards, but I will never regret anything I have done in my life, for I have lived and loved and danced and striven for something good in this dangerous horror that our Garden has become. On that day, when you see me in misery from your unassailable stronghold, you may rejoice that I have lost everything, but you may also think of what it would be like to lose your spouse. Perhaps then you will wonder how different the world would have been if you had taken the trouble to do some good here instead of surrendering it to cruel fate."

It was hopeless. Those who had never suffered could never understand. She closed her eyes and located her husband who was working out his frustrations torturing and decapitating in the secret depths of his dungeons where even she could not always find him. Exactly where she expected and better left uninterrupted for the moment.

* * *

The hundred orcs decapitated, he threw down his sword and wiped his brow. The physical exercise always served to calm his rage, he thought, pleased. Still, he wondered how the Valar were faring against Legrace. The thought of her brought a smile to his face. Never could he remain angry at her for long. Truly, she was always the balm for his soul no matter how bad things became. 

His lusts momentarily assuaged, his thoughts returned to her longingly. Who else could manipulate Manwë that way? He grinned to recall it. Legrace…. Impulsively, he set off again towards the Great Hall where he did not doubt that she had everything under complete control.

Hovering near the door, he grinned evilly as he observed her in action. Manwë was nowhere in sight; obviously she had already driven him away with her sharp tongue. Now, poor Aulë was cowering under the verbal attack. Ah, Legrace! She possessed some fearsome, untapped power that could only be guessed at. Certainly, she had no comprehension of it herself. What would happen when she realized what she was capable of?

Unable to contain himself any longer, he strode purposefully over to her. Her eyes fell upon him and her face lit with joy, her words trailed off. Without saying a word, he went to her. The fire he felt was held tightly in check as he turned her face up to him and kissed her lightly. When he lifted his head and gazed at her again, a deep flush had risen in her face and her eyes held dark promises. That was enough. With a little growl, he swept her into his arms and bore her off towards the door.

Laughing and hugging his neck, she leaned to kiss his ear, and he felt an involuntary shiver followed by the rise in gooseflesh all over his body. He had been waiting to do this for hours, and when they had reached the entry hall, he again disappeared with her to a doorless room where no other creature had entry.

* * *

She had been concentrating on nuzzling his ear and neck and was surprised when he set her down among various pillows of blue and violet satin. Disentangling herself, she gazed up at him, but he was busy unfastening the complicated clasp that held her cloak at the throat. 

It was odd how gentle he could be when he wished, she thought, then he had pushed the velvet cloak off and his hands were heavy on her shoulders. For a moment, their eyes met, and the whole room began to smolder and smoke. With amazing skill, he removed her shoes and was patient beyond belief as he unhooked all the tiny fasteners at the back of her gown. It was a wonder none of them were torn off.

When he was done, she pushed his roaming hands away and slipped her own arms out, then wiggled the garment down off her hips and then completely off. When she had tossed it to the floor and looked back at him, she discovered that his eyes were devouring her. In her mad rush earlier, she had not changed her underclothes, she still wore a delicate, gossamer fine chemise, nearly transparent and extraordinarily low cut to be worn under her fashionable neckline.

He reached for her with a growl, but she laughed and held him off. "You will make yourself crazed, my love. Take off your tunic and boots first."

* * *

Despite his massive, powerful build, he moved with unstudied grace. Like a predator, she eyed his brawny shoulders, arms and chest as he nearly tore his shirt in his haste. Then, he froze when he looked at her. A slow smile spread across his face; his pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked more black than blue. Yes, she knew that look and the electricity crackled between them. 

Ignoring his hungry gaze, Legrace reached to brush her fingertips against his shoulders and throat to the thick black hair of his chest. He shivered and tensed all his muscles, for now she was allowing her fingernails to graze the sensitive skin on his chest and arms. How long could she hold him immobile this way, she wondered, but in truth, she had never had the patience to find out. Instead, she leaned to kiss him and found herself seized in his arms and then crushed against him in a mad embrace.

* * *

The scent, the feel, the taste of her was maddening, overwhelming, the most intoxicating sensation he had ever experienced. As he held her against him, so soft and warm, every sense, every nerve ending, every particle of his being was aware of her. His hand slipped along her thigh, sliding the hem of her silk up to her hip. 

"Legrace," he muttered, his mouth warm against the ear. "I shall have to rip it off if you do not help."

"No need for that." Drawing herself slightly back from him, she eased the clingy garment up and off over her head. "Although I might like to try it when I am wearing something less expensive. It might be exciting."

Surrendering with a groan of desire, he buried his face against the fragrant warmth of her breasts. She laughed breathlessly and put her arms about him as she lay back among the pillows. As usual, since time immemorial, he was her willing slave.

* * *

The Dark Lord of Mordor certainly enjoyed slow torture! The man was going to drive her mad before he gave her any satisfaction, Legrace imagined wildly as she squirmed under his ministrations. By the Flame, he knew how to use his hands and mouth! Arching her back and crying out incoherently, she was ready to beg him to release her from this exquisite torment. To no avail, though, for he continued to tease her slowly and methodically, knowing exactly where and how she liked to be touched. 

"You are mine, Legrace, mine alone," he panted raggedly in her ear.

"Yes, yes," she murmured mindlessly, opening her eyes and gazing pleadingly at him. "My love… now… please…"

There was no need for her to repeat her tremulous request, for her Dark Lord could deny her nothing.

* * *

Entwined in Legrace's soft limbs and spinning dizzying close to losing himself completely, the Dark Lord fought to control himself a bit longer during the physical coupling. As she abandoned herself to the sensations, his Beauty enticed him even more. No stranger was he to her magic, and she wielded it unknowingly, for in complete surrender, the gentle, insidious, irresistible tendrils of power seeped invariably into every joint and crack and weakness. 

Truly, any man who willingly made love to her would be forever trapped in her snares, and even as he knew and fought against it, she opened her eyes and gazed at him with love and trust and hazy, unfocused passion. As ever, he was enslaved, but not only by the unmeasured depths of her power but also by something far stronger, the first and last of Eru's gifts, the flame, the love that remained intact and inviolable despite all that had occurred in his life.

* * *

In the wild tumult of emotions that had torn at her soul during the evening, Legrace was unable to subdue the things that she hid from him, the things that could hurt him. In truth, so much did she need him physically and emotionally, that she forgot the need to protect him and all else of concern. The flame still burned between them as brightly and purely as ever, for it was one thing that would never change or falter. Relinquishing all, even her own identity, she welcomed the exquisite act of physical union that seemed to shake the Tower and rend the very earth. 

When she was aware and before she slept, she held the unmoving form of her beloved as he lay heavy and spent atop her. Stroking his powerfully muscled back, she wondered at something she had never before known: he was sobbing against her neck.

* * *

Cradling the sleeping woman in his arms, the Dark Lord's mind was racing. Never before had he known her to suffer so greatly from her emotions, and at the moment of the joining of their bodies, their souls had mingled. For once, he had felt what she felt, he had known what she knew. Now, he could not stop thinking about it. He wondered what she had felt and known, what he had imparted to her. 

She stirred a little and snuggled closer without waking. As he stroked the dark red hair that was strewn everywhere, strange thoughts impressed themselves upon him. Not new thoughts, though, old thoughts, ancient thoughts. Things that had not crossed his mind since… How long? So distant, such a different world that at first he only recalled it in flashes of suppressed memory.

He recalled the day that they had been wed and they had first sung together. How long had it been since he had sung with her? Back during the Shaping of the World, perhaps. How young and earnest he had been then, he thought with a grin, how everything had made him stand back in wonder. Those days, when Tulkas and Legrace had driven everyone mad with their ceaseless banter and had made even Mandos laugh. No one had ever been able to resist her, the ruby-haired lady who exuded rapture and affection. Once, she had got Ulmo to let her walk upon the surface of his seas, and she had run, laughing and barefoot, across the rolling white capped breakers and the rising and falling swells with their immense dormant power.

She shivered slightly, and he pulled the covers up over her shoulder. Now, her frequent thoughts of their children were part of his consciousness as well. When had he last seen them? Long before the Counting of Time had begun, Ages and Ages ago. Could he still remember what they looked like? A bittersweet grief squeezed his heart so suddenly that he gasped in pain and his eyes teared. Abandoning his own children…. But it had been necessary, and they had been grown. He gritted his teeth. Of course he knew what they looked like, every time he looked in the mirror he saw himself but he saw also his son and daughter, for they had been born in his image. Their characters were much like Legrace's but their looks were his.

No, their looks _had been_ his. Despite all Legrace's attempts to keep him in his original physical form (and, to his own amazement, her powers were ever waxing), the endless evil and debauchery of his life had taken their toll and he was a dark and appalling spirit, even in his fearsome beauty. No, they looked like he had, but they had been conceived and born when he had still been….

Legrace shifted again, slightly. Almost like a child, she slept, vulnerable and trusting, content in what she considered the safest place in all Eä: his arms. Was there any other living thing that had ever existed who could rest so happily in his embrace? he thought cynically and was momentarily choked with self-loathing. No, through everything, always, she had been the only constant. Although the millennia had not tempered their affection and passion, he had never had to imagine doing without her. Now, he did. What if she had not stayed with him? What if she had abandoned him when he had gone to serve Melkor? Could he have dwelt alone so long?

No one else called him by his true name. Did anyone else remember it? No one else cared what happened to him. Perhaps the children? Perhaps, but nothing that he did nor what happened to him could affect them in any way. They were too far removed from his life now. No, even if they cared, it would make little difference to them.

Tightening his arms around her, he was gripped with a deep protective sensation, almost overwhelming. Did anything else matter anymore? Her despair, her grief and sadness… was there any way to dispel them? Could she be right? She had seen the downfall of all the powerful creatures on Middle-earth, the fair and the evil. Could she foresee his violent end?

He leaned to kiss her. What was to be done?


	6. Farewell

Comment:  
The One Ring was destroyed and the Dark Lord was reduced to an impotent spirit. Legrace lived on, however, and says her final farewell.

* * *

**Farewell**

Turning round and round in the shadowy room, Legrace's eyes finally lit upon an ancient box fashioned of cedar and bound with leather. She went over to examine it. Under a thick layer of dust, the clasp still worked, and she found a jewel the size and shape of a quail's egg, yet it was the exact dark red color as her own hair. As she held it up to the murky light, a slight smile touched her features. Then, she tucked it into a pocket.

Only one other item occupied the box. Her breath caught and her eyes rounded as she lifted out a heavy bracelet fashioned of mithril and set with blue stones of a richer hue than sapphires. There was nothing remotely like it that existed in Eä, she knew. After a moment of staring at it, she viciously tore off the horse bracelet that Eldarion had given her and threw it across the room with a strangled cry. After taking several deep breaths, he did something that she had not done for several thousand years: expertly, she fastened the bracelet to her wrist. Then, she held up the other hand to compare the matching ring, which was flickering faintly with a soft luminescence.

Quickly, she scanned the room then went to yank a heavy damask cover off a tarnished, full-length mirror. Placing her palms flat against the cold surface, she closed her eyes and struggled to isolate the faint feeling. Summoning the strength she had forged over the course of many years at the beginning of Middle-earth's Third Age, she focused and was rewarded with the contact that she sought. Only then did she open her eyes and stare at her reflection. Her round black eyes had been altered to a more exotic shape and were the dark blue color of her jewels.

"Who sent the summons?" she whispered. "And what shall I do?"

She remained motionless, staring unblinkingly, barely breathing, maintaining the delicate contact with her feather-light touch, knowing that when it was broken, there would be no other chance. Time seemed to stand still as she concentrated on the disjointed feelings and images, letting the meaning trickle into her consciousness. Weariness crept into her joints and muscles but was ignored by sheer force of will. The strength of the feeling was waning, and at the same time, the bitter taste of grief was intensifying. Long did she stand there, but far too short to one of her age and memory. The connection slipped due to no lack of effort on her part, and very slowly, she was left alone.

"No-o-o," she wailed in anguish as the unfamiliar tears slipped down her face. "Not yet, please…" Weak now from the exertion, she stumbled backward and stood swaying for a moment before her legs collapsed and she was forced to sit down upon the floor. "Farewell," she said aloud. Then, "I am sorry."

Sitting and sobbing, she recalled that almost from the beginning she had known this day would come, but that did not mean she was any more prepared for it. Still, her life had been long, and in the days of her youth, she had been foretold as the merriest and most joyful creature who would ever live in the world. Even doom could not dampen that. At this moment, however, she could understand men's hunger for vengeance, for it could fill the emptiness for a time before consuming the bearer.

Alone, though, she would be now, always alone, merry and touched by inexorable sadness; yet she was not only sorry for herself, or her beloved, or for the children, or all that she had lost. She was also sorry for everyone who existed, had existed, or would exist in the world. She was sorry for everyone who prayed and pleaded faithfully to the Rulers of Arda, hoping for aid, for guidance, for intervention that would never come. She was sorry for the lost Garden of Arda abandoned by its makers and for all the fragile, helpless, forgotten creatures who were smashed about on this wretched and bereft land by forces they could not comprehend while the Valar hid in their blessedness far away.

A shadow of this day had touched her long ago, before the Counting of Time had begun, had moved her to confront the Powers upon their snug, unassailable thrones, to rail against them, and to denounce their decision to forsake Middle-earth. Not all had been against her, but her words had come to naught, and she had never returned to the Máhanaxer. Still, though, the tale was told among the denizens of Aman, and no bar was ever made to Legrace visiting her children in Valmar. Despite the knowledge that doom awaited, she had made her decision and had never regretted it, not even now. Yet, she drew her knees up, clasped her arms about her legs, and laid her head down as she wept, long racking sobs wrung from a wounded soul.


	7. The Seduction of the King

**The Seduction of the King**

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Eldarion wandered long through the Citadel. He met no one but the regular night sentries, and he thought that he wandered aimlessly. Eventually however, wishing only to speak with her away from all distractions, his steps brought him to the chambers of the Lady Fala. Long stood he outside absentmindedly examining the hilt of his sword; then, summoning his courage, he knocked upon her door

"Come in," she called.

He opened the door and entered. The Lady Fala, dressed in a sea-green dressing gown, was seated at her table combing her unbound hair. She rose, comb still in hand, when she saw him.

"I -- I had thought you were the servant!" she stammered. Her eyes were wide.

"Forgive me, lady. Do not be frightened. I only wish to speak with you." His hands clenched into fists at his sides: his palms were sweating.

Slowly, she put down her comb. Her breathing had quickened, and she cast her eyes down.

Words failed him when he gazed at her, undressed and with her hair loose about her shoulders, ready to surrender to her liege lord. "Do you wish me to go?" he asked in a gentle voice. "For I will, if you say the word. Tell me to go."

"No," she answered looking up at him again.

There was a long moment without speech or movement. Then, he came to her hesitantly, both uncertain and eager. He took her face in his hands and kissed her tentatively, his lips barely touching hers. He then lifted his head and gazed down at her.

"This is your last chance to say me nay," he murmured.

"I will not," she breathed.

Emboldened by this response, he took her in his arms to kiss her again. The lady's arms slipped around his neck; however, she quickly pushed him back with surprising strength. "Wait. You are hurting me." She gestured impatiently at the hilt of his sword digging into her ribs.

"I am sorry," he said miserably as he forced his fingers to quickly undo the heavy buckle of his sword belt. "I forgot."

She burst into laughter. "Do the men of Gondor go armed to court a lady? And then make love at swordpoint?"

"I am sorry," he repeated then realized that she was teasing him. The tension of the moment was broken; the lady was laughing at him. Gone was her apprehension. She gazed at him with humor in her eyes. Humor and something else. An invitation.

* * *

In the light of dawn, she sat upon the chair with her feet up on the foot of the bed. She was drinking red wine, rubbing her aching scalp now free of the tight coiffure, and regarding her royal prize that lay sleeping amongst the scented sheets.

He had made her wait long enough -- half the night she had waited for him. Easy and ridiculous had it been. Ridiculous -- she grinned as she recalled the bumbling scene with the sword. Excuses could be made in tense situations, but this was classic. She committed it to memory although she knew that there was no one to whom she could relate the tale, no one to tell who would laugh and comment on her madcap adventures. Easy -- for the most difficult part had been in the past: the seeds of the seduction had been long sown. The spirit had indulged her with a look at the king in the Seeing Stone, and while he had been distracted by his thoughts, she had used the delicate charm necessary to influence Men to reach the king through the connection. The spirit had not noticed; what he would have done had he noticed, she did not know. Perhaps attempt to deny her her sport. What a miserable and humorless creature he was!

This city of Minas Anor would provide some distraction, although the noise of the water in all the fountains was maddening. She wondered how long it took one to become accustomed to it. Despite that, she liked the dark king with elegant manner and extraordinary handsomeness. She had been very careful not to draw suspicion to herself. She felt some power here without reaching for it, but it was not concerned with her. and she had avoided whatever nets and traps they had set, if any. Because she wished him no ill, none of their sorcerers had detected her.

The damage was done, though, and she held influence over the king of men. Nothing could break the enchantment unless she released him, for he had given himself willingly. How weak were these males when it came to the physical, and how easily ensnared in their own folly. Even though, influence over a mortal Man was not as strong or easy to maintain as influence over an Elf, for she did not understand their wills and could not always judge the strength of their emotions. He was not, however, of full mortal blood, and the limits of her influence would have to be tested.

_You are lucky it is I who holds your strings, my pretty mortal princeling, and not that creature of darkness._

* * *

In the silvery moonlight, the young king looked as beautiful as any mortal man she had ever seen. The sweet brotherly love and concern for his sisters and his people was a balm on her frayed emotions. The troubles of the Atani were no less grievous that her own; however, they alone had received the Gift from the One, the ability to escape the Circles of the World. Although she knew not the final fate of Men, she envied them, for her own hurt would outlast the world and would never be healed. How attractive death was! Even the blissful maw of nothingness was better than the long slow, days of grief.

With her left hand, she grasped one of his wrists and lifted his hand to her. Into his palm, she pressed a small object before closing his fingers about it and letting go.

Curious, Eldarion held up the pretty bracelet with the blue crystals on it. A vulnerable, haunted look came into his eyes, and Legrace waited, almost welcoming the storm to come.

"My lady." He stared at her. "You know Fala? Have you seen her? Did she speak of me?" A long pause followed as he looked again at the bracelet. "She is not coming back, is she?"

This was not what she had expected. Tears sprang from her eyes. "It is not possible for her to dwell in your city in contentment," she told him quietly. "Even as Queen."

Dumbly, miserably, he nodded, continuing to stare at the cunning little carved horse.

"It is too foreign for her to adjust," she added as tears slipped down her face.

"Did she--- ? Does she-- ?" He swallowed and looked helplessly at her.

"She loves all her prey," she whispered. "Yes, she loved you." Raging, screaming, her own black emotions scraped her raw from the inside. She had to forget, to thrust away memory and pain, to lose herself in the physical.

The pretty king was hers for the taking on this velvety moonlit night, and she embraced him, drew him to her, kissed him. His response was normal: he held her and kissed her back, also wanting to forget the moment. How easy it would be to draw him down on the ground, to urge him to that blissful physical union with which he had thrilled her in the past...

No, this was not what she wanted. Breaking off the kiss, she buried her face against his shoulder and found herself sobbing uncontrollably. Not to forget for a time, not to lose herself for an hour or two, she wanted it GONE. Wherever her feelings resided, she was willing to take a blade and cut them out of herself if only she could have peace

When her weeping lessened and awareness returned, she felt Eldarion holding her and stroking her hair. The comfort of the contact and the feeling of safety consoled, a little, her parched soul, and she drank it in, sponge-like. Gripping his shoulders tightly, she pressed closer, wounded and needing something but what she did not know. In response, his arms held her tighter and he gently kissed her temple and cheekbone. By the Flame, he was strong! She could feel her own trembling, and all she wanted was to have the moment continue, for even the slight assuaging of her torment was blessed.

"Lady," he murmured to her. "You must not walk alone in the evenings. You must sit with us and allow yourself to be diverted, for even the heavy talk you despise is better than this."

At his words, a little smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and she raised her head to look at him. His hold on her loosened, but he did not let go. "You are obviously used to giving orders," she managed in a wavering voice.

With a dark frown of concern, he reached to brush his finger under her wet eyes. "My dear lady, let me send for Elrohir. Better, come, and I shall take you to him."

As he began to lead her, holding her supportively, she sighed. "If you can get a message to them, tell your sisters to get away"

The reply was a long time in coming. "I shall, lady," he said, continuing to escort her to his uncle. "Why? Are these reanimated warriors unbeatable?"

"No, but no matter what magic has done this, they are still dead. Nothing has the power to restore life." He still seemed unable to comprehend what she was saying. "Their bodies have been repaired, but decay is inevitable. If you wait long enough, their flesh will fall away and become useless. In that way, they become less and less effective."

The young man embraced her quickly again before continuing on.


	8. Elrohir

Another fun bit written with my husband.**

* * *

Elrohir**

Wrapped in his own thoughts, Elrohir left the meeting. Probably the dreams and feelings of the Seers arose from the crisis in the south. He wanted to think about all that had occurred before he decided what to do. Wishing that Elladan were here, he started up the stairs. On the first landing, completely unprepared for the encounter, he came face-to-face with a lady unlike any other he had ever seen. There was silence and no movement as he looked for the first time into her eyes.

That she was using some artifice was obvious to him, for she was protecting herself against Men and not Elves. He could not understand why anyone would want to hide such loveliness. She was tall and beautiful beyond imagination. Some internal fire seemed to illuminate her from within, and a man might sacrifice much for those fine dark eyes.

At first, she looked pale and shocked, but that soon gave way to unguarded admiration. He was used to being admired; however, this was much more. She looked at him almost as a predator. He imagined that a cat looked at a mouse in such a way and it unnerved him.

Then, immense sorrow seemed to shroud her, which made her even more breathtaking. It evoked a powerful protective emotion in him and something more. Lost, she was, in darkness, in the mazes of the night, lost among beauty and evil and desire, lost and wasted in the dark places of the world, alone and unable to find her way. Seeking something that perhaps even she didn't realize. Was it too late for this bright angel, this lady who had lost her way? He did not know. Her vulnerability drew him, and he had no defense.

They stood there on the landing staring at each other. The lady, magnificent beyond comprehension, raised her hand and touched his face. He was overcome by the physical contact and would not let her take her hand away. Firmly, but with great gentleness, he grasped her wrist and pressed a kiss in the palm of her hand.

* * *

The first thing that Legrace thought when she recognized him was, What is the son of the Half-Elven doing here, now? Had she given herself away somehow stupidly and unknowingly? Then, she relaxed. It hardly mattered, for even the Masters of Imladris could not overrule the king here. 

Calmly, she looked up into the deep grey eyes of the tall, exquisite Eldar Lord and knew that she was gazing upon the fairest creature that now dwelt upon Middle-earth. By the Flame, he was handsome! In her long life, she could recall little that had affected her this way. Forgetting darkness and grief, forgetting Eldarion the Fair, she devoured him with her eyes. Rarely before had she wanted anything as she wanted him.

She had been unprepared, that was certain. He could see her and might perceive what she was if he had the wisdom and experience to understand what his senses were telling him. Now, regarding the son of the Half-Elven with her own eyes and at point-blank range, Legrace was stricken. The creature before her was dangerous -- far more dangerous to her now than anything she had ever before faced. Fairer and more dangerous even than his identical brother, for despite the sameness of their looks and manners, no one else among the living could look at her -- look inside her -- and make her feel this way. Although she did not know what he saw, he must sense some part of her fearsome power, which, since using the palantir, had been churning up from deep wells long unused and forgotten within her and threatening to slip through fissures in her control. And yet, he made no effort to protect himself. Unable to stop herself, she reached to press her palm against his forehead.

The Elf Lord did not endeavor to resist; as a result, she could perceive his emotions and some of his intentions as if he were broadcasting them, and she was both pleased and disturbed. Before she could withdraw her hand, however, he had captured her wrist in his warm hand and kissed her... on the palm. She shivered and knew that she would need no enchantment against this one, for his feelings were genuine. Regretfully, she realized that she had to maintain her hold on the mortal king now; however, she promised herself that, eventually, this one would be hers, for she could keep him forever.

* * *

Long after the King had retired, Elrohir walked along the walls of the citadel, bundled in his fur-lined cloak against the bitterly cold night air. He was troubled in mind and in spirit. 

All the events that were occurring, all the concerns that he had to deal with, and yet in the quiet darkness and solitude of night he could not keep her out of his mind. Once only had he met her, and although he had perceived her essence, he had not seen her true appearance. They had spoken together for a relatively short time, but it had been enough. He was glad to have admitted the truth to Ben, for the wily spymaster had promised to send an urgent message if any lady came to Minas Anor looking for Elrohir.. or Eldarion, he thought with a strange, numb feeling. He only wished that the dangers and questions that faced them were more important to himself than seeing her again.

Only sentries were stirring In Minas Anor, and dawn was still several hours off. Stopping and turning his face upwards to the heavenly light of the stars, Elrohir allowed himself to recall the words that had passed between them...

"_Pardon my impertinence, my lady," he said to her. "But I long to know your true name. Will you not share it with me?" _

_Showing no surprise or concern, she gazed at him with an enigmatic little smile. "Not now, my pretty elf prince, but I shall when next we meet." _

_He felt slightly uncomfortable by her words, but being flattered by such a lady was not an unpleasant sensation. "I am no prince, my lady." _

_A lovely grin spread across her face. "You and I do not categorize things in the same way, you see." _

_Nodding and returning her grin, Elrohir wondered how she could remain so unconcerned when he knew she was not Lady Fala. Perhaps she recognized the feelings that she stirred in him. Why else had she put her hand upon his forehead? It was the only enchantment that she had used with him, he was certain. _

"_My lady," he began slowly, choosing his words with care. "Whatever this darkness is, this grief that threatens you, I will help you, if I can." _

_The sadness rose in her eyes, and he perceived her keen pain. "Perhaps. Now, however, I must leave. I can stay with Eldarion no longer." _

"_Then, stay with me," he said very softly, feeling enormously vulnerable. _

_For a moment, she smiled at him with a beautiful light in her eyes and Elrohir found that he could not breathe. He flattered himself that she considered it, for he lost track of time as he waited for her to reply. "I would like to, but I cannot now. It will be better this way for you as well, for I could drive a wedge between you and him that might never be removed." _

_It was something that he had thought of but had pushed to the back of his mind, so he knew that she was right. "Yes, I had thought of that. I ask one thing only of you: if we do meet again, assume some appearance that will make it impossible for anyone to recognize you." _

"_Of course, my pretty prince," she chuckled. "When next we meet, I shall not assume this false appearance. For you, there will be no deception of any kind. Not only shall you know my true name, you shall also see me as I truly am."_

The stars were cold and far away, offering no comfort. Elrohir sighed deeply and turned for the long walk back to his quarters.

* * *

The first thing that Elrohir noticed with a shock and a flame of anger was the familiar way that Eldarion was touching Legrace. Almost beyond belief! The sight of her wet eyes and the fresh tears seeping from them flooded him with relief and then regret for his impulsive feelings towards his nephew, whom he knew to be a man of principle and honor. What kind of fool was he to suspect Eldarion of such a thing? 

Again, though, the pendulum swung back as he saw her chafed skin and knew that she had recently been kissed... and neither of them made the slightest effort to hide it. Jealousy stabbed him deeply, and worse, despair. Bitterly, he cursed himself for stupidity and naïveté. As much as he knew about her, he should have realized that she would take whatever and whomever she wanted at any given time. Selfish, sad, suffering female, he hated himself for letting it matter so much.

When Eldarion took his leave, he kissed Legrace's hand and murmured something in her ear. His departure with Benoit left Elrohir alone with her, and he stood staring at her with a stark expression on his face. Of course, Eldarion would not have done such a thing unless enchanted.

Why now, though? She had held the King in the palm of her hand and had discarded him. By her own words, she no longer wanted Eldarion and did not want to come between the two men. There had been no deception, even as she had said it... It was his own bloody fault, he knew, for allowing himself to get so deeply involved. No promise had been made, and she had certainly broken no vow; nevertheless, he had let himself believe—what? That she would forsake other men? That the bond between them was something special? That because he was willing to give up his very self for her, she owed him some loyalty?

"So, you have changed your mind?" he remarked, low and controlled ash he folded his arms across his chest. "And you will go back to Eldarion."

A little smile flitted across her face. "No, indeed."

"Then, you merely toy with his affections as well?" Bitterness had crept into his voice. "And keep us both on leading strings? Or is he only a proxy until my brother comes close enough to ensnare?"

Her eyes regarded him warmly, and a real smile appeared on her face. "Jealousy suits you, my dear prince, but I do not know what has roused it."

Elrohir took a deep breath, trying to control his anger and hurt. "You neither hid what had passed between you tonight."

Slowly, she shook her head. "No. He cannot comfort me that way again, now I see." With tired motions, she reached both hands up to rub her eyes. "You would not understand."

"Every living creature in this world has suffered in some way," he muttered, coming to her. She looked up at him in a serious, frowning, questioning way. Exhausted and slightly faded, she was, her face wan and shadowed. "You ought to go to bed."

"Ought, perhaps." A little pause, and then she raised those irresistible eyes to him with an uncertain expression "Do not leave me alone. May I not sleep here?"

His fine black brows drew together as his gaze bored into hers.

"You are safe with me, I promise," she added with a little grin, but behind it was an aching and unbearable loneliness.

"The men will talk," he said briefly.

"They already talk," she countered. "Do you care?"

Of course, she would care nothing for men's gossip. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Very well, from now, you shall stay with me." He met her gaze again, and the unspoken between them was heavy and poignant.

* * *

. 

Night was just falling as Alys and her escorts reached the first of the sentries. "Lady Alys, you are requested to go directly to the king," one of the men said once the small party had been positively identified. "And the Lady Legrace as well."

"She is not with us," she said to the sentries, then looked worriedly at Dacius and Leofric as they continued on into the camp. "I daresay that the king will be angry that we left her."

"That will be on my shoulders," said Dacius with a sigh. "For it certainly fell to my responsibility to see that both you ladies were escorted. But it is the Lord Elrohir whom I think will be most angry."

The thought made them all uneasy, for the Elf Lord was an intimidating presence even when he remained silently in the background. Soon enough, too soon, they turned their mounts over to the grooms and went, not without trepidation, to the tent where the king waited. Upon admittance, they saw that the Lord Elrohir and General Benoit were sitting with him: the three men were sipping wine and talking together in low voices.

When they entered, it was the Elf Lord who stood up. "Where is the Lady Legrace?" he asked sternly. The three of them were descended from kings and queens and were all stout of heart and strong of nerve; however, each one of them was stunned, for the fierce Noldorin blood within him had been stirred.

"She sent me away," answered Alys, unable to meet his eyes.

"Why? What happened?"

"Wait a bit, wait a bit." Now, King Eldarion got up and came over to them. "My dear lady, pray, be seated and take a glass of wine. Gentlemen, I bid you to do the same." He arched an eyebrow at Elrohir and then moved to see that the lady, still in her riding gear and spurs, was comfortable before resuming his own seat. With immense effort, his uncle did the same.

"Now, tell us what occurred, Lady Alys," continued Eldarion kindly. "You were observed leaving here with the Lady Legrace after the parley."

"Yes, my lord. The lady was very distressed, so I accompanied her. She wanted to speak with the woman Tempest. I tried to dissuade her, but she said she would go with or without me, and I thought I should stay with her." She purposely avoided looking at the Elf Lord, and she instead looked only at the kind but grave face of Eldarion.

"So, you went to find Tempest?"

"Yes, and the three of us rode together to a quiet place where they spoke together in private. I could not hear everything, my lord, but they spoke of strange things. Then they moved away and spoke together in quiet voices."

"Can you tell us what you heard?" King Eldarion encouraged.

"Very little, and it made not much sense. My Lady Legrace said that Mordor had only bittersweet memories for her and nothing else, whereas Tempest said that all was bitter for her but not at all sweet. The talk continued thus for many a long minute, with my lady speaking of exquisite love and happiness, and that Tempest speaking of hate and vengeance."

"Had you any sense that they knew each other before?" asked Benoit. Till now he had remained silent; indeed, she had almost forgotten his presence.

"No, sir. It seemed that they were strangers who… knew each other by reputation. That is all."

"Well, then. What next?" prompted the king.

"Well, my two guards were detected and exposed." She indicated Dacius and Leofric. "My lady was angry. She told Tempest to – well, I don't recall. To execute them or imprison them."

"She told her to do what she would with us," volunteered Leofric.

"Yes, of course," said Alys, flushing.

"And then?"

"Well… Tempest said she could do nothing for fear of alienating you, my lord, or her new allies. Then she spoke quiet words with my lady before departing. After that, I spoke a little with the Lady Legrace. She was deeply distressed and sent us away in haste."

"And you left her there? Alone?" Eldarion turned to frown at Dacius.

"Forgive me, sire, if I did wrong," said the man with calm resolve. "I was charged with seeing that the Lady Alys was safe, and I have done so. The Elf Queen spoke to us very rough and belittled us as if we were only pups in her eyes, and I truly believe that is all she saw. For my part, I would have sent the Lady Alys with Leofric and attended the other lady, but I don't think she would have stood it, and in her anger, she was particularly fearsome. Thus, I come here now."

"So, you left a lady alone and unprotected," said Eldarion flatly.

"I did, sire."

"For pity's sake!" exclaimed Alys. "He had no choice! Lady Legrace would not endure his presence and sent thunder down to hurry us along away from her."

A little chuckle sounded from Elrohir. "Yes, I think it is safe to say that no fault lies with Captain Dacius tonight," he remarked. "For that lady has no need of protection of any kind and occasionally chafes at the good will of mortal men."

"Sir?" asked Leofric. "I wanted to know how that Elf Queen got such a horse. For her mount is Stigontral gone gray, is he not? I should know that colt anywhere! He was black when he was sent to Gondor, and now he is curiously gray, yet he is the same colt."

A deep, malignant silence settled over the group: Eldarion was staring at his uncle without speaking. The horrible truth had at last come together in his mind and there was no denying it now. Nothing seemed to come between them, and the silence stretched, reaching a horrible length in a minute, and then two, and finally three. "I must speak with Lord Elrohir now," Eldarion said in a coldly formal voice. "Please leave us for now."

At first there were a few seconds of hesitation. Dacius was the first to bow; he took Alys by the arm to escort her and glanced at Leofric who bowed as well, looking confused, and went with them. Benoit hesitated longer, wishing to stay and needing to know what Eldarion knew, what was said between the two.

"You too, Ben," said the king, and there was no option. The old spymaster made his bow and departed after the others. Alone, then, Eldarion still stared at Elrohir. "You think I am some kind of fool, it seems."

"By no means," sighed Elrohir. "You suffered much when the Lady Fala left, and I sought to protect you from more."

The young king swore blackly and shook his head. "You have lied to me."

"I have spoke no untruth and have deceived you only by omission and only to protect you."

"Protect me?" Eldarion snapped, then laughed: a sharp, unpleasant sound. "By the Valar, Elrohir, you are a vile creature. She loved me – do you understand? She lived with me, shared my bed, almost might have been my Queen. And you took her from me."

"It is not so. I did not meet her until after she had left you. I knew it would divide us; thus I hid the truth from you."

With a snort of disgust, the king went to take up his wine glass and swallowed the contents in one quick gulp, then poured another glass and tossed that back as well. "What sort of woman would do such a thing? Why did she come to me in disguise? For certain, she could have seduced me as easily – far more easily, to be sure – as she is now. Is she some sorceress? Is that how she changed her appearance and the color of the horse? I have never heard of elves leaving one man and taking another, I though you mated for life. By elven custom, she is mine, you know, until my death."

"It would be true if either of you was an elf," began the Elf Lord slowly. "That lady is no elf. She is of the immortal race of the Blessed Ones from across the sea. I cannot say she is not wicked according to the judgment of men and elves; however, she did love you very sincerely and still does. It was she who gave us the warning of the armies of the enemy. It was she who told us of this evil creature who raised the dead. And it was she who told that the Army of Dead would not long trouble our brethren in the North. She fretted for your sisters because you did. Do you not see that she holds you in dear affection?"

All that he said was true and made sense. It gave Eldarion pause, and he turned it over in his mind. Then, he shook his head. "She shared my bed those months, and now she shares yours. It is too much." He turned and fixed Elrohir with a look of cold hatred. "You will go from here, back to Imladris. You are no longer welcome in Minas Anor and will have no contact with Ancalimë and Gilraen."

Elrohir paled and his eyes grew wide. "Eldarion… with this dark threat that we are facing, this is too drastic. Let me go away for a week and then we shall speak again."

"No, you are to go now and never to return. You have made your choice and so now have I. Go with your faithless and cruel lady, and I wish you joy of her."

Still stunned by the starkness of this pronouncement, Elrohir blinked. He had known Eldarion all his life as well as Elessar his father, and Arathorn his father, and many others before: this was no idle threat but a punishment and a ruling that he meant to keep. "My dear nephew, you seek to punish me, which I understand, but in doing so, it is really yourself and your sisters whom you are harming, as well as your people. If I leave this place now, I will not return. You must realize that you have not the ability to defeat this powerful evil without me. Thus, I shall depart at dawn, and you will have the chance to change your mind before then."

"I will not change my mind."

"Very well." Elrohir came to stand before him, and the two men looked into each other's eyes: Eldarion's full of anger and hurt, Elrohir's full of sorrow and regret. "Unlike your mother, I have chosen the fate of the elves, so I shall not see her again. It well may be that you and I shall never look upon one another again in this world or any other. I say now, as my last words to you, that nothing – no woman, no army, no evil – can ever come between us. For ever and beyond the Timeless Halls, you will be my beloved nephew and I shall recall you always with love in my heart."

The king did not waver. "Farewell, uncle. I wish you no ill."

"Farewell, Eldarion. May the Valar keep you safe." With these words, Elrohir departed.

* * *

Having left the camp before dawn, midday found Elrohir and his lieutenant, Culandun, a high ranking Noldo, just coming to the crossroads where they could choose to go to Osgiliath or turn northwards. The cold, spring rain on this gray day reflected the Elf Lord's thoughts and mood perfectly, and there they stopped. "Here we must part, old friend," said Elrohir.

"Why? Do you not go on to Imladris?" Culandun asked in surprise.

"Yes...," Elrohir said slowly, considering. "I shall be there, by and by. I cannot say when, but you may tell Elladan that I will come." From under his cloak, he drew a sealed parchment and handed to him. "You may give this letter to him or Armith or to Curandir in their absence. Lastly Morglin. It is my account of these days and for the eyes of the High Council of Imladris only."

The other elf took the document and tucked it securely inside his tunic. "I shall, of course, deliver it." He paused and looked thoughtfully at the Elf Lord whom he had followed for more that a millennium. No words were necessary, for he knew what Elrohir intended, more or less. "May the stars of Elbereth guide you, Elrohir. Good luck, my friend."

"And may the Valar keep you until we meet again, my dear friend." They clasped each other's forearms, eyes locked, for a long minute. When they parted, neither looked back. Culandun urged his mount into a canter towards the bridge, and Elrohir turned northwards.

More slowly, he went now, tracking. The road had seen heavy use recently by the army going north to enter Mordor through the Udûn, but the weather had been dry for several weeks. The road was a good one, and hard, and the rain had washed most signs of travel away; therefore, only the freshest tracks showed. At first he had a little trouble, for the rain had started too recently. Focusing all his concentration, he kept Rhosguin to a slow trot as he scanned the road ahead. Though the rain was not heavy, it prevented good visibility, and he had to keep a sharp watch.

An hour passed and then another as the leagues went by. He slowed Rhosguin to a walk as he continued to look for marks in the mud. Three hours after they had parted, and still nothing. And then…

_There_. Clearly in the firm mud was the mark of a horseshow, and not of a warhorse. Leaping down from the saddle, Elrohir lead Rhosguin and studied the marks. Yes, this was what he had been looking for. He followed them on foot for a while, but the rain was increasing, and he knew he had only a little time before the marks were all washed away.

Back astride his chestnut warhorse, he started out at an easy canter. Now that he had something to follow, it was easy. Still, the rain was slowly erasing the hoof prints, and there was not much daylight left, if this pale, murky grayness could be called _light_.

Suddenly, he pulled up. The tracks went off the road, to the right, into the wilderness of Ithilien. He knew this area – in all his centuries of life, there were few areas he didn't know – so he turned Rhosguin off the road to follow where their prey had gone. Now, there was no need to look for the rapidly disappearing marks of hooves, for there were many other signs to look for: broken branches, trampled foliage, torn leaves. The acrid smell of smoke jolted him, and his heart raced. Close now, ever so close. Slowly, he rode through the woods following the marks and alert to any signs of a fire.

Coming out into a little clearing, he stopped. There, ahead, was a little fissure in the rocks, an outcropping of the Ephel Dúath, a narrow opening that formed a little cave. Inside, back a ways and out of the wind and rain, was a small fire. Elrohir paused a moment before dismounting and leading his horse into the entrance.

Rhosguin whickered happily and there was an answering snort form another horse. It took only a second to accustom himself to the darkness, and then Elrohir saw the troublesome colt Stigontral, tethered by a basin of water and covered with a green blanket. Nothing else stirred. "Legrace?" he called, pushing down the hood of his cloak and glancing around.

For a moment, he wondered if he should just wait for her and decided to see to his own horse while he considered his options. He rubbed Rhosguin down and covered him with his blanket then set both their feedbags as they stamped impatiently and pawed the sandy, dry ground.

When the two horses were settled happily together, he drew up his hood again and went out into the clearing before the entrance to the little cave. With careful movements, his eyes swept along the perimeter until he found the fresh marks of a lady's boots walking off to the left. He followed.

Not far had she gone, and he soon caught sight of her ahead. Swathed in her blue cloak, standing with her back to him, she seemed to be gazing out over the surface of a silvery pond that was rippled by circles from raindrops. With the rain, she certainly could not hear him, but could she not sense his approach? He made his was closer, and still she did not turn. Would she send him away? Laugh at him? Weep? Bid him a cold farewell, like Eldarion?

Finally, her reached her and came up beside her, and still, she made no movement or sign that she was aware of his presence. He drew alongside her, but when he saw her face in profile, he froze. A terrible grief and sorrow lay upon her like a mantle, and her ancient black eyes had deepened as her mind traveled far back in the mysteries of her memory. The sight of her suffering thus caused him acute pain.

"Legrace," he said softly.

With a shudder and a gasp, she traveled back over the eons, hurtling back to the present moment. At first, she blinked and drew in a heavy breath, but then she stared at him in absolute stunned silence. No, she had not sensed his presence; it was obvious.

"Legrace," he said again, thinking of the things he had decided to say to her. Words escaped him, now, and he gazed mutely at her, knowing that the Lady Alys had been right: he _had_ hurt her. With delicate slowness, he reached out to touch her. His fingertips brushed over her cheek, his fingers slid back to bury in her hair, his other hand slipped about her waist to her back, and he drew her to him. In the gray rain, he leaned towards her and kissed her, at last, with gentle passion.

Lifting his head and holding her back from him, he looked gravely into her eyes. "I once told you that I would go with you when Eldarion had no further need of me, and that day has come. I shall ask you to make me one promise only, my lady, and that is to forsake all others in favor of an elven husband."

The shocked expression on her face made fear grip his heart. His fate had been sealed from the moment that he had first seen her; however, now he was past the point of no return. Time hung in the balance, there at the crossroads, for all would be changed, far more than the fate of one Elf Lord, when Legrace made her decision.

* * *

_If it is your wish to be fruitful and pour forth more of your brilliance into a new being, you must leave him  
Not for anything would I do so.  
Then, this is your fate, to share in his affliction, for his seed is poison and nothing shall grow from it again._

The thunderstruck shock that Legrace felt gave way to the long ago memory and then to one thought, and it was an unselfish one: _he needs to have at least _**one**_ child_. What was he about? She had told him when she had first come to him in the capital city of Harad. Could he have forgotten? It seemed almost absurd to imagine that he had forgotten or overlooked such a thing, but what other explanation could there be? Elves took a spouse only once, and it was strange to think that he would knowingly take one who could not procreate. To take her to wife, barren as she had become, was unthinkable for one of the Eldar who took such delight in their children. There were, however, the enflamed words that had passed between them not so very long ago

_"He is not your child!"  
"No. But he is the closest I shall ever come to having a son of my own." _

It had been his way of telling her _you and no other_, and it had pierced her, hurt her, to know that he had already given up the possibility of having children for her. Now, she stood scowling at him, not knowing what was wrong with him. "You know there can be no children."

"Yes, I know."

"It may not matter now, but as the ages pass, it would be a burden and a regret."

He stood for a moment regarding her with a stark look. "I cannot take another woman. If you will not have me, then I am alone, and there will be no children anyway."

Sadness filled her. Although she understood, for she had made the same decision long ago, at least she had borne her two children before that. His decision was firm, though, and had been this whole time: she did not doubt him.

Her next thought was selfish: Elves faded. Accustomed as she was to the glorious pleasures of the physical, could she abandon this life as he aged and go back to the flame of the incorporeal spirit only? Before this world, she had dwelt long in the Timeless Halls. Would she miss the physical? Or would the communion of spirits with him be enough?

Was this what she was supposed to do? When her beloved had communicated with her for the last time, the final gasp before the all-consuming maw of nothingness had taken him, he had told her to let no harm come to the young pup who should now take care of her. Was this what he had meant? Strange… strange. How very short a time ago was it that she had been promised him and his twin as fair toys to amuse her! And now he would give himself to her for always! This way, she got only one of the set, but something had changed since that last visit to the Tower. Something had changed with that final farewell.

"The customs of elves are strange but not unpleasant, and I would have a condition of my own," she said looking at him very seriously.

Hope and longing filled his eyes; he tamped it down. "Anything within my power."

"It is possible for your physical body to be damaged or destroyed, and then you would go to the halls of Mandos. Now that is no great tragedy for me, for I am accustomed to waiting. Among the elves, though, such a physical transition is considered the end of a union. If I am to agree, then we must have the understanding that such an event will not affect us."

Only for a moment did he pause to consider it, for it meant going against the laws and customs of his people. On the other hand, it was an agreement that he could live with and that would affect no one but himself. "I agree," he said.

A decision was clearly called for. She turned away from him, withdrew into herself, and stopped all thoughts. Without memory, without words or images, she simply was; her essence filled her and she carried with her the essence of all whom she loved or had loved. In the quiet fire of her self, she was, she felt, she knew. Always she had been, always she would be, but the strange world of mortals and physical sensations distracted her.

How long had passed she was hardly aware, but it was very dark when she turned and looked at him. The clouds obliterated both moon and stars, but a little light reflected the pond and the Elf-lord could see her answer in her expression before she even spoke.

"I will give you my promise, then," was what she finally said. "Must I now go to Imladris for some elaborate ritual?"


End file.
